by June Shaw
Kat’s face brightened. “She’s been like a mom. I always go to her room before classes start, and she sits down and talks to me. She really listens.”
“I’m glad you found someone like that, but I’m sure Miss Hernandez wouldn’t want you to let your grades go.”
The cloudy eyes returned. “Lately she’s been ignoring me. I try to talk to her, but she’s always too busy. She seems to be constantly looking over her shoulder.”
“Maybe she knew the custodian well, or she’s concerned about what his death is doing to students. Especially one of them.” I watched my granddaughter tighten her arms about her small waist. Maybe she knew more about her mentor’s involvement than she was saying. “Kat, you have to go to school.”
“I can’t think, I can’t study, it’s miserable over there.”
“But you’re about to start finals, and your senior year is almost over. Your average could drop tremendously if you don’t show up for exams.”
She shook her head. What had gotten into the child? A horrible thought occurred to me. “The police haven’t implicated you?”
Kat’s arms jerked. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Alarm spiked from my heels up to my scalp. I stepped closer to hold Kat, but she backed away.
Fearing for her, I knew my arguments weren’t going to counter her resolve or get answers to my questions. She loved going to malls. We could probably make more progress with girl-talk in a clothing store. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow,” I suggested. “You can pick out treats for yourself and help me find something special to wear while I watch you march across that stage.”
“You don’t have to. I might not even show up for graduation.”
I locked my knees to keep from falling. How could she choose not to attend? Maybe some kids received diplomas without taking part in the ceremony—but I’d promised Nancy I would see Katherine in a cap and gown. We needed a stage and her hand reaching out, accepting a diploma.
But she wasn’t willing to talk now, and I couldn’t think. I kissed her cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“All right.” She spoke without emotion.
By the time I started my car and drove past her house, the front door was shut. Kat had disappeared inside.
Throughout her school years, she’d made top grades her mother was proud of. Kat couldn’t let that all go now. I needed to get her back into classes.
Who in this town could help me?
Chapter 2
My heart pounded while I steered down streets, wanting Kat’s problem to disappear.
She’d been through pre-K, kindergarten, and twelve more years. Her grades had been excellent, and she’d hardly missed any days. Now someone she didn’t know had succumbed, and everything she’d worked for all those years would vanish? These final days of high school, which should have been so much fun, would be ruined?
No, that couldn’t happen. I had to keep her in classes, and I’d probably need assistance.
“Dad’s always grumpy,” Kat had told me once when I phoned. Roger remained mired in his world of memories, surely waiting for cheerful Nancy to come home. Kat and I knew she wasn’t returning, but did he? While I was in town this time, I’d have to push harder to bring him out of his misery. But the most pressing problem was Kat.
Roger was in no position to notice her withdrawal, let alone try to help her work her way out of it. I lived states away, and Kat’s final exams were about to start. Whatever I could do, I needed to do quickly.
Who else did I know in this town? I wondered, trying not to consider the sole answer.
After Nancy’s death, Kat had naturally been mournful at first, but had gradually taken up her life again. She’d joined clubs and always excelled in classes. A cute boy at school liked her. Then another. She’d recently broken up with a boy named John Winston.
While I drove aimlessly, I tried to imagine murder connected in any way to my grandchild. My mind couldn’t set them both in the same scene. Kat had said that at first everyone believed the custodian’s death was accidental.
“That’s it,” I said, my statement letting the image sink in. “The man tripped and fell.” And police ordinarily treated deaths as homicides until they determined otherwise. That’s all that was happening at Kat’s school.
Tension left my shoulders. Kat and her mentor teacher probably had a misunderstanding. Kat was upset because Miss Hernandez wasn’t giving her attention. The woman could have distractions from her life or job—too many papers to grade, a breakup with her boyfriend? If she was so kind to Kat, she couldn’t possibly be a murderer—could she?
I shook my head, noting that I’d merged into thickening traffic. Kat wouldn’t like Miss Hernandez so much if the woman could be violent. And Kat had said the custodian’s funeral was tomorrow. If she quit going to classes, she’d probably only missed a day or two. With a little nudging, she would make more effort to talk to her friend, tell her how she felt, and life would resume as before. All I had to do was make sure Kat returned to her high school.
I breathed easier. Life was much simpler without worrying about a murder, especially one connected to my family. I felt almost positive that Kat’s anxiety stemmed from the disruption of her relationship with the teacher. Still, a nagging doubt remained. I needed to be sure. Ever since I’d adjusted to being a widow, I’d learned to make decisions on my own, but this extrasensitive issue concerned my grandchild. I needed to discuss what happened with someone else.
Roger was too detached for analyzing disturbed tender moments Kat had shared with her mentor. But I did not want to see Gil Thurman. He was the only other person I really knew in this city, but I was driving in the direction opposite his restaurant.
The feel of Gil’s warm hands enveloping mine returned. I recalled the rich texture of his voice and, especially, his wisdom. I forced my rental car into a sharp turn.
Gil had been out of my life for almost a year, and I didn’t plan to open it to him again. He’d been my shoulder to lean on throughout too many happenings and almost got me pregnant when I was certain I was past all of that. In those fretful days my breasts felt fuller, my lower abdomen tender. “I’m afraid we might have created a baby,” I told him the night we snuggled in his den listening to a downpour.
Gil’s head fell back with the deep-throated laughter I admired. Until that moment.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, anger heating me.
He rubbed thick fingers through my hair—which was then natural strawberry blond—and said, “That’s wonderful, Cealie. Us, new parents. Just think of it.”
I had thought of it. I wanted to shove his hands out of my hair and punch his arm till it throbbed. I wanted to scream about all my plans. I’d expected to tell him I had toiled for decades with my husband to create a successful business. Managers now ran all the offices of my Deluxe Copyediting agency. I’d worked hard to learn to live without a mate and was no longer needed as a mom. My time had finally arrived.
The morning after my announcement, Gil drove me to the doctor, who assured me I could no longer conceive. My body carried only a urinary infection. The tingling in my breasts? Gil was surely connected.
Later he snuggled me on his lap on the recliner, rubbing his big hands in circles on my back, saying, “Oh baby, it’ll be all right.”
And that’s why I needed to avoid him. Instead of letting me make my own way, Gil almost made me want to settle down again and try to start a new family. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t!
“No way,” I reaffirmed, tapping my brakes now on the freeway. The cars I drove past all seemed stopped. I needed to slow with them to find his restaurant.
Gil was certain of everything he wanted from life. Sometimes he pushed too hard to press his assuredness down on me. I needed to find my own certainty. I’d mourned about life making me a widow long before those golden years that I had planned to spend comfortably alongside my husband. Without him, my house felt empty. Humongous. Like my friends, I’d st
arted to become dowdy. That’s when I read about a woman’s speech called “Changing Your Inner Underwear.” Exactly what I needed! My inner panties and brassieres underwent a major upheaval. It was still okay to want to feel sexy. I could enjoy washing clothes for just one person. I wasn’t only my past, I was me—Cealie Gunther. I needed to tend to my spirit and rediscover myself.
What made me happy? What did I like to do?
That concept seemed foreign. Guilt popped up, that same guilt a mother experiences when she wants to do something for herself instead of putting everyone else first. But my husband had died and my family was grown. Nobody wanted me to cling to them anymore. I was inching toward my golden years alone.
A while after I decided to make some attitude changes, my friend Jo Ellen made that momentous phone call to me. She was a few years older than I, but while she moaned about hoping her kids would call and when she’d start receiving retirement benefits, Jo Ellen made me realize I was heading down the same path. I had also often waited to hear from family members. And even though I hadn’t planned to retire any time soon, I was getting older, and more of my friends were choosing Social Security as their main topic for conversation. Was that all there was? My face developed more wrinkles, my eyesight worsened, and I could no longer hold in my stomach no matter how hard I tried—and that’s all I had to look forward to? Jo Ellen’s call made me aware that I’d been settling for routine existence and never considered what I really wanted from whatever time I had left. Well, I had thought about it just a little before I subscribed to those newsletters on sexual behavior. But her comments had made me determine my days were whittling away, influenced by anything or anyone except me. That’s when I took control.
On that fateful day I chose to start a new search for me. I strode through my house shouting, “I am woman! Able to make my own way alone.” I took off from my house and started locating the path. I’d even begun to feel comfortable traveling without a partner. And then I met Gil.
I couldn’t hand him the independence I’d worked so hard to achieve. I had told him I was leaving to continue searching for me, and he’d said, “Happy hunting. You’re mature enough to know what you want, Cealie. I’ll miss you.”
Dammit, I finally got over missing Gil and didn’t want to run to him again. But Kat was in need. He might help.
I pulled into his parking lot, assuring myself all I wanted from him was feedback. His thought-provoking insight. And if my stomach quit jumping, his chef’s food.
The grand opening sign was out front, the paved lot next to the restaurant filled. A Jeep backed out, and I took its place. I walked alongside the building built like his others, tall in front and sloping to the rear, and couldn’t resist the urge to run my hand along its gray cypress to feel the rough texture. The tin roof would plunk-plunk during downpours, its extension in front sheltering guests when they walked underneath.
I drifted across the bridge that crossed a pond and spied swimming ducks. Gil and I met on a bridge such as this. At his second restaurant, in Vicksburg. I was the one tossing crumbs to the ducks, and he stood near. Gil Thurman was a presence. He spoke in that husky tone, and with no hesitancy came close. Gil looked and sounded better than anything in that restaurant or anywhere else.
We lost touch after I left Vicksburg. While I continued looking for me, he’d headed for Denver to open Cajun Delights number three.
My gaze skimmed the water, and I wondered about Kat. How could I help?
Laughter came from people exiting the front door, the scent of fried seafood wafting out with them.
I passed a swing beneath the tin overhang and reached the door with stained-glass panels, where a sign said Treat yourself to another Cajun Delights. My heart surprised me with its flutters.
Gil might or might not be inside this place. He might have come to inspect the building and hire great cooks and friendly people, then flown off to start another. One way or another, the familiar setting would let me feel his presence. Answers might come. Gil usually had good ones. Besides, I was hungry. My stomach had settled, and the food in his restaurants made it happy. Once I ate, my brain would work much better.
Inside the door an enthusiastic young man with a handful of menus greeted me. I didn’t let my gaze stray while he led me to a table and drew back my chair.
“I’d like Eggplant Supreme please,” I said without opening a menu. The eggplant would be stuffed with shrimp and crabmeat and topped with crunchy buttered breadcrumbs. “And smothered potatoes. A Caesar salad on the side.”
He went off, and I saw smiling faces everywhere enhancing the décor. Pictures in rough-hewn frames depicted wildlife and swamp scenes. A wooden floor with swirling knots shone, and waiters carried scrumptious-smelling steaks and tangy boiled seafood to cozy tablecloths with black and white squares. High-backed seats at booths blocked my view of many people. So did the string of diners selecting items from the central seafood bar.
My waiter returned with tea and crackers. I thanked him, took a crispy square, and ate it with sips of the icy drink. Fiddling began, making me and others turn toward a small stage.
On it, a trio used a fiddle, accordion, and washboard to play a foot-stomping Cajun tune. I grinned, recalling how Gil and I had danced to a similar ditty. Customers looked pleased, even those lining up near the door to wait for tables. The music lowered enough for conversations to take place. The waiter brought my salad and I ate, as always, swept up in the atmosphere of Gil’s restaurant. He’d delighted in the fact that his mother had been Cajun, which made him decide on the name of his establishments. I’d have to bring Kat and Roger here before I left town.
Again a death had altered Kat’s life. I had to do all I could to prevent this new death from damaging her future.
“We’re happy that y’all are here tonight,” a man said into the mike once the band stopped playing. He wore a tie, a confident attitude, and a friendly smile—certainly the new manager.
I watched him while eating my greens. The space in my stomach began to fill, and my thoughts tried to jell. A custodian killed, possibly murdered. By Kat’s Spanish teacher? The question stuck in my mind, and no matter how hard I tried to dislodge it, the horrendous thought stayed.
“We hope you enjoy the food and come back again,” the manager said. People clapped, and he added, “We’re pleased to have Cajun Delights in your city. We want to thank the proprietor, Mr. Gil Thurman, for bringing us this restaurant.”
I applauded. The man onstage pointed beyond me, and my heart lurched.
There, at a corner table, sat Gil. The gunmetal gray of his sports jacket matched his thick hair, teased now with silver streaks. The top button of his white shirt was open. He stood, and I saw that he wore dark jeans. Colorful jockey shorts would be underneath.
Applause rang in my ears. Or maybe it was blood rushing.
“Thank you all for coming,” Gil said, the deep richness of his voice sending molten urges through my body.
People at his table raised their hands toward him and clapped. At the chair beside Gil’s sat a young woman with a bronzed cherub face. Hair like liquid ebony draped around her face, and a black knit top revealed mega cleavage. She gave Gil an expansive smile, her eyes sparkling like those of a woman in love.
Gil’s gaze fell to the woman. He grinned and then peered at his customers. “Please enjoy yourselves. And don’t forget to tell your friends where we are.” He began to sit when his gaze located mine. Gil sprang to his feet, mouthing, “Cealie.”
Somersaults bounced through my belly.
Gil strode to me, saying, “You’re here.” He leaned and kissed my lips. Gil’s lips were warm, his scent manly. I let my mouth linger.
Behind him, someone snickered. The waiter stood, holding my entrée. He set it down and left. Gil stared at me. “What a treat.”
I didn’t speak, enjoying the marvelous twinges in my torso.
“Cealie, I can’t believe you’re really here.”
I struggled to d
raw my gaze away from his mesmerizing dark gray eyes. Gil’s neck filled his open collar, and chest hair sprinkled the V above his top button. That same chest hair had often tickled my cheeks. I felt a rush of passion no lady should feel while out in public.
“Nice to see you, too,” I said, willing my voice normal. I slid my left hand into my right palm and pinched, an action I’d discovered was more discreet than slapping myself. You are woman, remember? You want to do your own thing.
“I don’t know what brought you, but I’m glad it did.” He cocked his head and gave a smile that made me sizzle. “Would your visit have anything to do with me?”
Kat’s horrid situation sprang to mind. “No,” I said.
“I didn’t think so.” Gil looked disappointed. He indicated the place where the pretty woman sat watching us, her red mouth now puckered in a pout. “Come over to my table and join us.”
“Why don’t you just join me for a minute,” I said, pointedly adding, “if you can?”
Gil sat and drew his chair close. My gaze flickered toward his table. Surely that young woman’s skirt was black and clingy. Black pantyhose would probably run beneath that tiny skirt the entire length of her long legs.
Her gaze locked with mine. We gave each other appraising stares.
My skin had more sag than hers, and my waist was surely not as tapered. I was a decade or two (okay, maybe three) older. Was Gil dating a child now, I wondered, my teeth clenched.
Well that was his decision to make. Still, I wished I’d worn something sassier than the boxy lime-green pantsuit made of crinkled fabric. It was a wise choice in some ways, loose and comfortable with an elastic waistband. The cropped pants were fashionable but made my legs appear shorter. Comparing me in this outfit to the woman staring back, I looked about as chic as Chicken Boy.
She shifted her eyes toward the man seated opposite her.
I turned toward Gil. “Kat’s graduating.”
“Little Kat? Already?” With a hearty chuckle, he squeezed my hand.
